Just 2! The Cruel Twist of Fate
"2!!! Just 2!!!!! Pola went for the Frost Lord steal, but ah, how can fate be so merciless?! The Frost Lord was down to just 2 HP, and Starforce snatches it away. Pola falls here too!!"
"The heavens are cruel! 2! In this situation, it's the most heartbreaking number imaginable. That single Smite could have turned the tables!!"
"If they'd lost the Frost Lord, Starforce would've had to cough up all their gains. From their perspective, that must've been a real cold sweat."
I could only chalk it up to bad luck.
In the end, Smite battles came down to luck at the wire. Pola's timing had been razor-sharp, but it failed anyway.
Our luck sucked.
And the cost of failure was brutal. The team's death count got skewed. Inevitably, one player was out longer, and Starforce wasn't the type to waste that window. They claimed the next objective too, and now Tundra's dive comp started rotting away.
Starforce Gaming had the overwhelming edge. A reversal.
You could think, If only we hadn't gone for burst, but even then we'd have been behind, so it wasn't a flat-out wrong call. In a losing spot, gambling was the right move.
We were in deep shit, but Tundra didn't give up. We hunted for gaps, scored a few gains. But that was it.
We couldn't close the operations gap from the Frost Lord. Starforce blocked our angles, refusing teamfight setups, and just rolled macro.
Unable to narrow it, Starforce reached our Nexus.
The final clash, Nexus at our backs—Tundra's last shot.
We fought desperately, pulling off a superplay that chilled Starforce for a moment, but
in the end, only one stood tall: Proud.
Loss, loss, win, win,
and
win.
Starforce Gaming took the grand finals. Loss-loss-win-win-win.
Starforce Gaming clutched the trophy once more, putting the perfect capstone on their miracle run.
The Spring Elchamps winner was set.
A brief silence, then cheers exploded—bigger than anything before, shaking the arena, no, the whole world.
~
I couldn't hear a thing. Had the roar deafened me? Everything felt numb, weird.
Like floating on a cloud of cotton candy.
Interviews with the victorious Starforce players droned on, but none sank in. Not even Proud's.
Finals MVP time. The caster asked who it would be, and the crowd roared back.
Proud! Proud! Proud!
As if on cue, Proud claimed Finals MVP honors. He'd been solid in Game 4, hard-carrying 3 and 5. Who else could take it?
The victory photo etched into history, closing remarks wrapped official events. People rose, and Yuseung called to dazed me.
"Let's go."
It was over.
Time to head back. We stood and filed out. The crowd surged. Venue exit was quick.
"That was insane, right?"
"Yeah."
Too soon to shake off the five-game hangover. Even usually quiet Yuseung was hyped—clearly felt a lot from this match.
"Pulling that comp in Game 5? Unreal. Both teams had nuts of steel. Starforce won, but Tundra could've too—no complaints."
But Yuseung's voice barely registered. I was still tangled in that third emotion I couldn't name.
Heart pounding like it hurt, face flushed red probably, weird feelings bubbling up, still floating like on cotton candy.
Weird.
Really weird.
"Kunoichi pick was a bit iffy. They banned walls early, but swapping top for Guardian and a balanced ADC might've stabilized fights more."
Really weird.
Cotton candy melts fast—it's just cloud fluff.
Why this feeling? Why this emotion?
I didn't need to name it anymore. It hit crystal clear, no doubt.
Weird. Laughably weird.
Why was I,
"Kaiser's Kunoichi mastery low? Or Durumi's prep meant no Plan B... Not a BP loss, but still regrettable."
Why, when my old team Tundra lost,
"Proud was just broken. Invincible mode obvious, but pushing forward anyway."
feeling this 'happy'?
Happy. Tundra lost? No, not that. Didn't matter. Meant nothing.
Insanely happy.
Sure, sleazy thrill from Tundra's defeat, but that wasn't joy. Joy's brighter, warmer.
The reason I could feel this joy? Crystal clear now.
Proud won, and I was thrilled.
The guy I hated most, my ultimate foe—his win made me happy.
Because my rival didn't fall, still sat on the throne, world's best mid, snagged Finals MVP, so I could...
keep chasing him.
I was happy enough to die.
"Remember our finals? Lost 1, lost 2, Game 3? Gambles bombed—still called worst Worlds finals ever."
Because that's how I was. That's who I was.
Admired Proud, dreamed bigger from him, pushed toward him, unbreakable to topple him.
My ugliest secret, never admitted, never shared, unspeakable.
"No Proud, we win?"
That I was Proud's fan.
The most fervent, fiercest fan in the world.
Worshipped him hardest, chased closest—a creepy sasaeng-level stan.
That was me.
"Back then, pissed enough to die. This match drags it up. But Starforce's still there, I'm here. Ha, your face was priceless. Like, uh, your face right n—ow."
"...What?"
Yuseung's face twisted weirdly. Then I realized: tears smearing it.
I stood frozen on the crowded venue street, crying. Silently, tears trickled down. Looking down, the wet pavement gleamed.
"...Dude, you okay?"
Heard that today a few times, always brushed it off.
Couldn't now.
No hiding it anymore—this feeling overwhelmed my chest, swirled around me, ruled me. Dream, longing, obsession surging.
Once realized, no holding back.
I cried.
Just cried.
Kept crying.
Sobbed like a kid.
Like the boy learning the moon's not cheese.
Like the boy knowing rainbow's end's unreachable.
Like the boy realizing no Santa.
Cotton candy melted.
Suddenly bawling, stares poured in. But I couldn't care.
Tears kept coming; I cried like an idiot.
"Hey, hey! Don't cry! You okay? What's wrong?!"
Yuseung grabbed me, tried calming, but impossible. Couldn't stop.
I finally knew what I'd quit, what I could never have again.
What do I do? How?
What now?
"I... h-hic, what do I do?"
"What? What's up?"
"Feels like dying."
Really, like dying.
"Wh-what?"
"I'd die happy to go pro again."
Win.
Victory.
Pro once more, atop the world.
And tell Proud.
"I want to say I won."
Because
"One more tournament."
that's why I was born.
"Be the best."
Why I lived.
"What do I do?"
Yuseung said nothing. Lost for words at my sobs? Absurd?
Silent, he held me—maybe minutes, maybe seconds. Noises faded.
Tears blurring tears, Yuseung extended his hand. I grabbed it instinctively.
Then Yuseung said,
"Do it."
So simple, so easy, so right—a solution handed over.
"If you want to, do it."
Yeah?
That it?
Can if I want?
"Join our team."
And declared,
"I'll take you to Proud."
I gripped Yuseung's hand.
So big.